Kara Lennox - Outside the Law

It took a moment for the shock to sink in. Oh, Lord, he was so screwed. He could hear the prison doors clanging shut and the key tinkling as it fell down a gutter.

“Who’s that?” Beth asked.

“You want to tell them,” Addlestein said, “or should I?”

“Willard C. Bell was my father.”

BETHFELTHELPLESS and clueless as she watched two police officers put handcuffs on Mitch and take him away. If this was a nightmare for her, how must he be feeling?

He hadn’t been able to offer any explanation for his father’s gun ending up in the stolen car’s glove box. He recalled that his dad had owned a couple of handguns along with a selection of shotguns and rifles for hunting, but he claimed not to have seen or even thought about his dad’s guns in years.

“I never touched my dad’s guns,” Mitch had insisted. “Talk to my mom. She might know what happened to the guns. But my dad sure as hell never gave me a firearm. He always said I didn’t have the temperament to own a gun.”

Mitch’s denial didn’t hold much weight with the cops. They typed up a warrant immediately, and in a matter of minutes Mitch had been in custody.

“What now?” Beth had almost wailed when she and Raleigh had been left alone in the room. “Daniel will get him out, right? He can’t stay in jail, he used to work for the police. It might not be safe—”

Raleigh cut her off with a glare, and Beth clamped her mouth closed. They were still in an interrogation room; anyone could be listening, and probably was.

“Let’s go,” Raleigh said. “We have work to do.”

She said nothing more until they were in the car. She started the engine and rolled down the windows of her Volvo. Though it was still early spring, the weather was already warm and muggy, the air fragrant with a mixture of magnolia, ocean and oil refinery like nowhere else in the world.

“Beth, how well do you really know Mitch?”

That was a very good question. “Until yesterday, I’d have said I knew him pretty well. I mean, we’ve worked together for five or six years, and the past few months we’ve even hung out after hours a few times. But I didn’t know he had a half brother or an arrest record. I didn’t know his parents were never married, which I guess they weren’t if Mitch and his dad have different last names. I didn’t know about the history of f-fighting.”

“What do you talk about?” Raleigh asked.

“Well…nothing very personal, I guess. We talk shop. Computers and science and evidence, and true-crime books and TV shows. And pizza—we both have a thing for pizza. I knew he had family in Louisiana, but he never got specific.”

Raleigh put the car in Reverse, but she didn’t back out of the parking place. Beth could see the gears in her brain were turning.

“What are you getting at?” But Beth had an uncomfortable feeling she already knew.

“People can compartmentalize their lives. A guy can be funny and kind at work, then go home and beat the crap out of his wife and kids every night. I’ve seen it.”

“Oh, Raleigh.” Beth was horrified at the direction of Raleigh’s conversation. “You think he did it.”

“I don’t know what to think, except the evidence suddenly got pretty compelling. Think about it. Who had reason to sink that car in the bayou?”

“Someone who thought he could be tied to the car.”

“Mitch might have known, or suspected, he’d been caught on video in the parking lot.”

“But anyone trying to cover up the murder would have sunk the car, hoping everyone would believe Robby had left town,” Beth pointed out, trying not to sound pathetically desperate. Just because she’d been crushing on Mitch for months, was she grasping at straws? Failing to see the obvious?

“I’m just trying to think like a prosecutor,” Raleigh said. “I haven’t written him off yet.”

“But you think it’s possible he did it.”

“You don’t?”

She took a deep breath. “No, Raleigh. Call it women’s intuition or gut instinct—”

“—or wishful thinking?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. He rejected me. If anybody has an ax to grind, it’s me. Whether Mitch is guilty or innocent, in jail or out, we’ll never be together in…in that way. But I don’t think he did it. I don’t.”

“Okay. Just checking. His arraignment and bail hearing are tomorrow morning. I’m sure Daniel will post the bond.”

“Even when he hears about the gun?”

“Yes. Remember, Daniel is the man arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, with his fingerprints all over the murder weapon. He knows physical evidence isn’t the end of the story.”

“I sure hope it isn’t. What if they won’t let him out on bond? Sometimes they don’t, for a serious crime.”

“We’ll get him out somehow. Meanwhile, how do you feel about returning tomorrow with me to lovely Coot’s Bayou?”

“I’ve got nothing pressing,” Beth said. Cassie could cover the bases tomorrow. “But why do you need me?”

“Frankly…I need you to deal with Mitch. You have a way of getting through to him, and he seems to be on his best behavior when you’re around.”

“If you think so.”

“Good, it’s settled. Meanwhile, I’ll need to find Mitch another lawyer. While I’m flattered by his faith in me, and I’m licensed to practice in Louisiana, I think he needs someone local who knows which cops and judges are corrupt.”

“You’re thinking of bribing someone?” Beth asked, only half kidding.

“Beth, of course not. I want to know which might have already been bribed, who owes favors to whom, that sort of thing. This whole affair smells like something is going on behind the scenes. Grudges, revenge, you know.”

“Agreed. First place we should look for a grudge is Mitch’s half brother. He seemed way too complacent about his brother’s arrest.” Sergeant Dwayne Bell hadn’t been involved directly in Mitch’s interrogation—that wouldn’t be kosher even in a backwater town like Coot’s Bayou. But he’d been hanging around, lurking.

“You know who would give some background on that situation? Mitch’s mother. Let’s go pay her a friendly visit. She might want to know her son is in jail.”

“MYRA? SOMEONEHERE to see you.”

The man who answered the door was neatly dressed in pressed khakis and a plaid shirt, and he looked mildly annoyed to be bothered by strangers in the middle of the afternoon. A black Labrador retriever mix hid behind his master’s leg, peeking out and looking worried.

Mitch’s mother lived on the outskirts of town on a little piece of land that backed up to a creek. It was kind of pretty, especially this time of year when everything was green and blooming.

The small house was run-down. It had once been painted white with brown trim, but it desperately needed a new coat of paint. The roof appeared to be patched and repatched, and several boards on the creaky front porch were rotted.

But someone had tried to make the place homey. A huge pot of blooming geraniums sat near the front steps, and a morning glory vine added a note of cheerfulness to the sagging porch railing. The front door sported a straw wreath festooned with small wooden ducks and bunnies peeking out from silk flowers.

From the little Beth had gathered during Mitch’s interrogation, she knew he’d grown up pretty poor.

The woman who appeared at the door looked too old to be Mitch’s mother. Her shoulder-length hair had been dyed reddish-gold, but a good inch of brown and gray roots had grown out. She wore a garish shade of orange lipstick, and her low-cut blouse and tight jeans were less than flattering.

Her shoulders slumped in that peculiar way of people who had lost any enthusiasm they once had for living.